Burning
by nekojco
Summary: Jane's POV, 1st person. Very honest, frank, more or less following her train of thought. It was a one-shot but people liked it so I expanded, and honestly, I feel really good writing this one. I have no idea how it will unravel. Bear with me. Suggestions/requests welcome.
1. Chapter 1

It's a familiar burning through my muscles and skin. This time it is liberating and uplifting. It's innocent, and it doesn't spread to my heart.

That's cause it wasn't caused by her presence as usual. This is simple workout. Simple Detective Jane Rizzoli time, hell yeah.

My body should be tired by now, but I still don't feel it. It will hit me any time. Not yet. Now, I feel like I could jump so high, I'd hit a giraffe in the face so hard its spots will fall off. Maura would tell me that's impossible. Maura would tell me it's the adrenaline. I know, but I don't have the heart to stop her. It seems she lives and breathes and feeds off her little geeky moments, and if she likes it, I'm not complaining. She can shower me with facts as much as she wants.

Speaking of shower, I need one now. I discard my top and sweats and remain only with a black piece of fabric below my waist. No, I don't wear a bra working out, if you were wondering where that went. The mirror image of me smiles back. I still got it! The scars are there, of course, but if it weren't for them, it would seem like no time has passed. I don't give make up and fancy clothes a single thought, but this look I'm proud of. This makes me feel great. So great I want to move again.

I drop to the floor and raise myself on my hands and feet. My body straightens effortlessly. Biceps contracts and triceps relaxes, then vice versa. I want to keep count but I lose it. There burning comes again, and I know there will be soreness in the morning. Worth it.

When I get up, my underwear flies into the laundry basket and I get in. It takes a while for me to decide whether I want a cold shower or a hot one. I try the hot one but my body is already too heated up. I can't stand it. I turn one of the handles back and the stream is now far more pleasant. Temperature in the middle of the north pole and the equator. I let my hair free from the band and it soaks. The bottle in the corner is the only thing here that I've actually paid attention to when buying. The rest are from random store racks with random scents. That bottle, _the_ bottle is Maura's shower gel. Not the same bottle, no, but the same kind. I've been using it ever since I noticed hers in the bathroom and managed to track it down and get it for myself. And it's been a while. But it's still not "my gel", it still smells like Maura. It's still sort of a guilty pleasure.

Sometimes I wonder if she notices. She must have. Does anything go past her?

Most of the time, I don't care if she does.

And I know how much of the stuff gets made, and that they produce tons and probably in different places, they package on separate days and ship different batches to different stores. But in my head, that drop of gel now in my palm could have been mixing with the drop that has spread on Maura's shoulders and back, gone through her hands, touched her where I never can. And it feels pathetic and dumb but also kind of warm and I feel so good right now and there's no space for any guilt.

Shortly, I'm clean.

My brain feels it's time to compartmentalize the senses, yes. I feel like I've trained it. My hands on my skin are just somebody else's, touching it, and the skin below my palms feels like I'm not its owner. I close my eyes and now there are two bodies. The skin I touch is her skin and the fingers that touch me are her fingers. They play their game. They move where I want them. They leave me openmouthed and gasping, muscles clenching. I feel somebody else's muscles wrapping around my own fingers, as if they'd never let go.

When I look, it's all gone. It's only me, in the shower, rinsing my hands, then stepping out, defeated. I feel the fatigue a rumble in my stomach start their separate attacks.

Should I grab a bite?

Should we grab a bite?

I look around and my mind is not made up. I decide that my watch will settle it, and I look for it to check it. It's not on the nightstand, or in the pants that lie thrown on a chair, so I search for my phone. The digits blink up and I still can't find an answer. My finger lingers over her name on the screen.

I can kill someone. I have killed someone. I can shoot myself. I have shot myself. I'd tackle and fight and jump and attack and it won't be a big deal and I'd still be up for some more action. But the courage evaporates the second I want to ask her out. Because it doesn't ask for my strong side, my skills and strength. It doesn't ask for the things I've done and known. Because the doors in me she opens lead to undiscovered places nobody has ever stuck a flag in. Because the feelings she brings out are uncharted territory and because my voice falters and my knees weaken and I'm still staring at the screen scared as hell. _It's not a date_, I repeat to myself. _You're asking her for a casual dinner like you always have._

A shiver runs through me and I don't know if it's the draft on my bare skin or another of the sensations the mere thought of her makes me feel.

There's a button that would lock the screen and a button that would make the call. My loud sigh emerges as the only sound in the room before I take my pick.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not that I don't think they'll understand it. It's that I know they won't.

That's why I'm not even planning on looking anyone composed of flesh and blood in the eyes, and sharing.

I scramble through the kitchen for something to snack on, although I've just eaten. But that's what it does to me, sitting in front of a screen. It makes me want to just do something on the side. Nibble on something or play with my badge or bite on my nails. Well, I don't bite on my nails, Maura bent over backwards to get me out of that habit and it worked. I don't know how she did it, but the lack of ragged nail endings on my fingers stands as a proud proof of her success.

There is an unopened chips bag that I take as my companion tonight. When I return to my laptop, there's a red flashy blinking image. She's replied.

I don't know her. I know her age and her name which I'm not sure is legit, I know approximately where in the world she lives and I know that she likes dogs. And theater. No wait, that's somebody else. Is that the one who played in a band? Their avatars are alike and I've lost track. A part of me feels bad, since they are independent individuals, real alive human beings, who spare time to blab on with me about whatever it is we can't tell the people around us. I like to think that I'm not using anyone, I also welcome everyone in need of a vent.

Well there are a dear few exceptions, of course. But mostly, at 2am, unless I take another look at their pages, I call them all "the girl".

And it's working.

For the time being. A way that balances the surrealism of the entire Maura situation. It opens a world where it's undeniably okay, and awaiting a happy ending. A world where this _thing _with me and "M" (as she goes by here), is just another love story waiting to unravel and where the sun is about to explode into rainbows and ice-cream and flowers and unicorns and candy and spring breeze and walks in the park and all that is good and beautiful in the world.

I open the message and it cheers me up. It's completely ridiculous and entertaining and it has nothing to do with Maura, but it makes me comfortable and relaxed, because I've already swiped my card to enter Universe Happy. My chest relaxes, and I type a reply.

The early morning hours find me on my couch. It's a surprise how the workout didn't throw me into some deep sleep where I wouldn't feel time passing.

I'm happy to not have work tomorrow but also tremendously disappointed to have spent such a "non-school-night" free evening alone. Sometimes, it's not about whether my finger landed on _lock _or _call_. Sometimes, it's about who pressed call first.

I don't remember Maura mentioning she had a date.

And I know that in the past a night alone would have made me happy. Happier than I'd have been at any party, gathering, event, outing... anywhere. But now there's Maura. And now I don't want to be alone.

It's almost dawning when I decide it's time to close the laptop. I remember to check my email one last time, unaware of the reasons for needing to, not expecting anything new in my inbox. But there is.

She came to the academy just as I was leaving it. It's the basis of both the angriest and sorriest I've ever been about a timeline arrangement. I'm certain nobody even senses I've kept in touch with her, or anyone else. In their eyes I don't let people in. In their eyes I'm stone cold and stick to my job. But I'm not. Nowadays, only Maura sees I'm not.

A flood of happy hormones hits me when my eyes catch the name on my screen.

_Oh my God, Grace, finally!_

She's the only one I know on the force, strong enough to leave the job at the desk. People think it's insensitive. I think it's admirable. I envy her.

She's the only one who made me wish I had a sister like her.

And she's also the only one of flesh and blood that I've looked at and shared with.

And with her, that's cool.

With her, I don't have to pretend.

I grab a pillow and get more comfortable as I go through the email.

She speaks of her vacation and of someone's drunk adventures, of patrolling the streets in the early hours of the morning and going to bed when the sun is rising, of beaches and parties and feeling like she's young and careless again.

She tells me she feels free. She tells me she is in love.

And my heart is happy for her.

But more importantly, it is comforted, ensured that if _she_ can feel this positive after everything _she's_ been through, there's no reason there shouldn't be hope for me.

I can feel drowsiness overcome my body before I can take action and transfer to my bed. It doesn't matter. I snuggle into the pillow as my head starts mixing reality with imagination and I drift off. Soon, it's only my brain's images floating through, and I'm in the only place where Maura is already mine.

* * *

A/N: I realized that this whole 1st person thing is quite interesting since I can use train of thought, so I'm continuing writing it. It's unexpectedly pleasant. Fair warning: I might be including some personal stories or new side characters, but I promise I'll do my best to stay true to the characters. If I stray, please tell me!

Now, I don't have exact elaborate plot plans yet, but I'll be bringing more of Maura as of next chapter.

You're more than welcome to put up suggestions, even requests.

And, of course, please review :)

Love you :D


	3. Chapter 3

My leg is elevated on a rolled up blanket on the couch. She sits a bit away, replacing the bag of ice placed on my foot.

"Ugh, this sucks!" I say, flinching as the bag applies pressure to the swelling. "Maura, you don't have to play babysitter with me." I try to convince her. She sits there, still observing my foot like it's the most amusing sight in the whole world. She's silent.

"I did this, I'll fix this." her decisiveness hits.

It's my natural instinct to roll my eyes at the absurdity of what she's claiming. I sit up, propping myself on the pillows she stacked behind me, and attempt to, for the thousandth time tonight, tell her it's not her fault.

"Maura, you didn't do this."

"I made you wear the high-heels."

"And I'm the moron who didn't watch where she was stepping." I laugh. The pain doesn't make me feel like laughing, but I sense if I'm positive, it could ease her state of mind. I don't want Maura to see me hurt, even if it's for the stupidest, most banal and non-lethal injury ever. I don't want it because I know she cares about me and I know it makes her sad. I hate it when she's said.

Long ago, I swore I'll do everything in my power to keep her from hurting.

Therefore, if I'm the culprit bringing her to such emotions, then I'll have to beat _myself_ to death.

And that's a paradox. You know why? Cos then she'll be hurting again.

So, there I am, smiling, ignoring the pain streaming from the foot, up my leg, annoying my brain. On the way back from the doctor she insisted I immediately see, Maura lectured me about some important nerves that pass the side of my foot and that I might have affected, to what they are connected and what they're responsible for. I remembered some of it. Most of the time I was failing trying to forget how only minutes ago my leg was moving on its own when the doctor did the electro-myo-something during his examination. Creepy and disturbing and scary and plainly shitty.

I understand bullets and guns, blunt force and beating, cuts and scalpels... oh how I know about scalpels. The dusty untouched piano in the corner can tell you how much. But the point is, this was _weird_. Stuff wasn't being done _to_ my body, stuff was being done _with_ my body, because the impulses the doctor sent were listened to by my own muscles. I knew it's for my own good, but it felt like a complete loss of power, betrayal by _my own body_. It made me see how easily it skips out of control. And I don't like not having control. Damn it, I_hate_ not having control, it makes me sick and nervous and nauseous and panicked.

So to sum up, my day sucked.

You know why else?

"Jane, we can reschedule tonight's dinner for whenever you can... function or, walk, properly... again." she smiles at me, attempting to appear innocent, but I know she's still scolding herself and pinning this on her own corkboard of faults and caused mishaps. "No heels! I promise!"

That's why else. Because this wasn't nearly the evening I had in mind. I laugh at the sick sarcastic joke my head constructs: _At least you got her to come to your place. Score, Jane!_

I shake my head, still in the conversation with myself, but she thinks the disapproval is addressed to her.

"Oh, well I'd understand if you don't want-"

"I want to." It bursts out of my mouth on its own. Was there someone with an electromyog- that thing, around to make me say it?

She looks at me and I drown. They capture me, all the tiny dots and lines in a million hues of green and gold. I can't look away.

Those are the windows to a soul I'm ceaselessly a prisoner of.

And once I'm in, invisible bars settle to block my escape. The truth is, most of the time I don't want a way out. I wanna keep staring. And I do. She doesn't move. My reality is filled with sounds of springs and rivers and chirpy melodies, yet there is absolute silence, soothing and pleasant. I'm afraid to break it. So I never move either.

"I'll return this there." She lifts up the old ice bag, molten and wet.

We have a few things in common, me and the package. Maura's been around us, she's touched parts of our surfaces, and now we're sitting molten and, yes, well, let's not pretend otherwise, wet. Fearing the moment her hands part.

"Thanks." I call.

"There's nothing to thank me for, Jane."

When she returns, she sits close, careful to not even near a way of hurting what must look like an embarrassingly fragile vulnerable me.

"Yeah there is," my grin forces one of her too as she struggles to discover the reason for thanking.

For being you. For proving I am capable of such fervent emotions and am of flesh and blood like everyone else. For breathing. For not being sad, because that would kill me. For every night you appear in my mind. For every fantasy my brain has modeled of us. For the casual touches and comforting hugs, for the way you look at me, for the way you smile at me, for the way you lift me up in the clouds and the way you ground me back to Earth again. For the way I worry about you when you're out late and for the way I worry about your nightly companions if you're even missing a hair off your head. For the warming of my chest when I see you. For letting me be around you. For existing.

"For the ice and stuff, and taking care of me."

_Coward_.

"Of course, Jane. Anytime."

I feel like hugging her. My body can't turn that way without me moving my injured foot.

I feel like my body physically needs to hug her. Boxing doesn't make you as stretchy as yoga does, and I don't do yoga.

I feel like I'd rather hug her than keep breathing.

"Come here." My arms are open and she moves so we can hug. She nests her head in my shoulder and I bury mine in her hair. It's soft and gentle on my face and I wish it is my pillow. Every night. Forever.

But it's not.

"Should we order something for dinner?" I ask when we break off.

I'm not hungry, not for food. But, beautiful, I called the universe and booked your splendor for my heart. So please, stay with me. Don't leave me alone tonight.

She nods and my soul is at peace.

* * *

I personally feel really good getting into this. Btw, that foot hurt thing? Yeah, I busted mine today, and just had to vent the experience :/

Please tell me what you think. And, again, suggestions are more than welcome. :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey everyone. This is a longer chapter, since I hadn't updated in a while and also because I didn't want to cut this in two. Some more of Maura in here, and, well, I think that the way things are going this qualifies as an AU, I'm not sure.

I hope you like it.

And, of course, please review :)

Love ya!

* * *

I can finally move without wincing at every step.

In all honesty, I'm uncertain if I'm happy or not that it's pretty much over with. I was staying at home for a few days - it was my single option besides doing paperwork only - and I couldn't see Maura through the day. And yet I can't complain, for she made up for it every evening. I'm not a fan of being nursed and ran after and taken care of as if I'm made of glass. It makes me feel incompetent. Weak. But what Maura was doing fell in a completely different category. Sometimes she was simply sitting at my table doing work on her laptop. Her presence kept me up and lively. Sometimes we were watching movies. The vibrations of her laughter reached every cell in my body, and urged the injury to heal. Sometimes we just sat there and talked, about nothing and everything. And her words were my painkillers.

Now I'm waiting for her to pick me up so we can take a short walk, some form of an exercise for me after long passive days. I find it's more comfortable to move in my sneakers than barefoot or just in socks, as I only did since I got hurt. I don't understand why, but I'm sure Maura can tell me. Later, she does. It has to do with weight distribution and pressure. I don't remember well because I don't focus on the content. I focus on the melody of her voice as it eliminates the last remnants of pain. Half an hour in the walk I realize it's all gone. And I feel great.

Regardless of how adamantly I claim I am fine, at the end she insists she walks me back up the stairs to my place. Don't take me wrong, I want her there. But I hate watching her leave.

I use a curtsey to dramatically demonstrate I was capable of reaching my place on my own. She gives me that smile where she tightens her lips which is Maura's substitute for rolling eyes.

"Okay, try not to do any... stunts!" she tells me, still smiling.

"I'll be fine."

"Well, see you tomorrow then." I watch how her hair glides as she turns.

"Stay." I say before I can stop myself. I wonder how desperate it sounded.

She faces me again. "I'd like to, but I have some work to catch up on." Cause I was taking all of her time lately. "And you're feeling fine, right?"

"I could still slip and fall in the shower." I mean it as a joke. I smirk, but she doesn't find it funny. She tilts her head to me, and I don't know if it's an apology or honest regret or a sign of compassion or sympathy or else. My cheeks drop on their own and I try to get them up again. "Yeah, you're right, I shouldn't keep you."

"Jane, you know I'd stay if I could do it here, but I don't even have my laptop with me and-"

"You could use mine." There's that thing again, where my brain loses control of my muscles. Did that doctor totally screw my motor control up or something?

She does the head-tilt again. I've gone too far.

"I'm sorry, I know your notes aren't even here." I try to laugh it out. "Go. Really, go. I'll see you tomorrow." I do my most convincing _it's okay_ smile. "I do actually need to take a shower and all that."

A couple of minutes later I'm standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom, about to begin the routine. I need to work out but I fear it will be pushing my luck. A quiet voice in my head informs me that if I get hurt again, I could use her healing some more. But a louder voice frowns at the word "use".

So I don't.

Strip. Enter. Shampoo. Wash. Rinse. Gel. Scrub. Rinse.

The water soothes me. Her scent even more. But my body is not fully at rest until her name escapes my lips again in a silent moan. I lean my back on the tiles. Such an enchanting rush, but always followed by a hollow feeling in my chest.

I walk out of my bedroom in shorts and a bra and she walks in the same room with a purse, two folders and a laptop bag.

My look is doubtlessly projecting questions since she can't wait but explain.

"I can work here... now." It sounds like it should be followed by a question mark. Huh, as if she'll ever be unwelcome here!

"Okay." I grin like an idiot. "Italian or Chinese?"

"Surprise me."

* * *

"Jane, do you have my reports on that last case we closed?"

"I thought you emailed them to me." I call from my couch.

"I think so too, I just can't seem to find them amongst all the files here."

"Want me to check?" I bring my computer to the table, open my email and search around. "These here?" I point the screen towards her.

"Yes, thanks. Could you leave this for a minute?"

"Of course."

I pat her shoulder as I leave yet cannot recall what reasons I had to do that. It's become a subconscious act, stealing touches.

The fridge makes that annoying sound as I open its door, freeing its load by a beer bottle.

The second my butt rejoins the couch she speaks again and I jump as if someone set me on fire, which means, a little too hastily for her not to notice. Here's why:

"Oh, Jane you just got an email from someone named Grace."

We know each other's passwords and use each other's devices all the time. Hence, to her, history suggests no reason for me to react in such manner and practically fly back to her. But if there's the tiniest chance she even accidentally opens any of the emails between me and Grace and takes one quick glance, I could lose her. I don't want to lose her. I can't stand to lose her. I can't live if I lose her.

So, as I mentioned, it takes milliseconds for me to get back at the table, yet when I'm there I'm clueless about how to proceed. Grab the computer from her? Turn it around? Pretend it's urgent and work-related? I'll still have to explain my behavior. I don't get hives, but I still avoid lying to Maura. And even if I do, she'll see through me.

She glances up behind her shoulder where I stand, moderately surprised.

"Um, you wanna read this?"

"Uh, y- yeah. But, finish your thing first."

"I already forwarded them back to my email. It's okay."

She lifts her hand towards my laptop, suggesting I take it, but doesn't take her eyes off mine. Laser beams can't pierce as effectively as her gaze. I know she's trying to read me.

I take it and sit opposite her. A click on the bold letters opens another full "report", though much briefer than the last one. My head dives into Grace's words and I nearly forget Maura was eyeing me weirdly. I'm aware that I smirk and laugh several times. When I'm done, I notice she's not looking at her work, but covertly glancing at me.

"Go ahead." I say calmly with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" At this point she stops pretending to be working and lifts her head up to me. I try not to get lost in her eyes.

"Ask away."

She doesn't need to be told twice.

"Who's Grace?" I can't tell which one of us is a bigger failure at attempting to sound casual.

"A friend from the academy."

"Really?"

My eyebrow goes up automatically.

"Why would I lie to you?"

"No, no! I just didn't know you kept in touch with, well, anyone from the academy."

Wow. Biggest news on the planet. Jane has friends! And they are _not_ from work. I don't want to voice my annoyance with this general attitude, especially not to Maura, so I look back at the screen.

"You never mentioned her." she tries again.

"Really?" Acting class grade - a big fat F.

I must have been very cold. I regret it. It's making things awkward.

I roll my eyes and return my attention to Maura.

"We were acquaintances for a long time, we got close right before she moved, never really got a real shot at a non-email friendship."

Maura's face brightens a little as she notes I'm in a way confiding in her. Proving that I share everything with her. Haha! Everything. As if I could.

"She didn't finish the Academy in Boston?"

"No. No, she... switched. It's been a while since I've seen her. Maybe a few years."

"Do you miss her?"

I do. I want to say it but my throat warns me my voice will break. Where did this sudden tide of emotions come from? I manage to open my mouth, but the words escape me.

"I see..." Maura whispers and drops her head back to the table.

Suddenly it's too silent in the room and I feel like the tension is suffocating me. I can feel my watch ticking. Not hear, feel. If that's even possible. I shake my head. That's your pulse, stupid!

My attention is not grabbed, but rather hauled by the strands of her hair, hanging lowly near her papers, shining bright and gold. Goldilocks. My head promptly answers to this word by compiling a film of Maura walking through a forest and entering a hut that's supposed to be plushie bears' home. Great, Rizzoli. Now use that brilliant creativity to craft a tool to clean up this awkwardness.

"I know what you mean." She starts first. "Years ago, in Europe, we started internships at the same time. I was an ME apprentice. She was in ballistics. At first I didn't like her, maybe even detested her... a little! I don't know how or why or when everything changed, but soon the time was almost up. We became inseparable, and yet still had to go our separate ways."

"Grace was one of the best friends I've had. Before _you_."

"Mona was _the_ best friend I've had. Before _you_."

For how long have we been staring at each other, chuckling lightly?

I've lost track of time. Probably seconds. Feels like centuries.

I snap out of the spell.

"Maura and Mona," I tease. "catchy! What did they call you, M&Ms?"

Maura looks at me softly, (I almost say it's "lovingly") and accepts that I'm joking with her. She's probably done tons of research on what she says is my "coping mechanism" for serious or emotional situations. She knows I mean no harm. I love her for that.

"No. What did they call _you_, Gee-and-Jay? That's catchier!"

"Well, we don't have candy named after us."

Maura bursts in laughter that quickly subsides and she voices what was on my mind but felt too weird to ask.

"What do you think they call us?"

A fight from long ago comes to mind.

_You know they laugh at you behind your back! _

_Well they call you a bitch behind yours!_

"The bitch and the know-it-all? Oh my God, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"Isles and Rizzoli! Isoli!"

"That's a couple name coining, Maura!" _If only!_ "And why do you get to be first? No! Rizzoli and Isles. Rizz.. Rizzles!" I declare victoriously.

"Fine, fine, you win. That _is_ catchier!"

I'm not even trying to hide how cheerful all this made me.

She laughs.

I join.

At the same time I know it's just a joke, just flirty banter, just a game.

But no matter how dead-end and desperate and gloomy the situation seems, the room is suddenly lighter, brighter, more radiant and joyous.

I can't help it.

I love her.


	5. Chapter 5

The train is rocking weirdly and I'm not sure if it is physically possible that it makes those movements. The horde of people running through its cars doesn't seem to mind. Seeing how ecstatic they are, they might as well be causing it. They're laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs. I am oblivious to their reasons. Someone slams into me and I lose balance. There's a part of a second that I use to instinctively turn sideways so that my upper right arm receives the blow, and I don't end up kissing the wall towards which I was headed. Yet, I'm not spared of collisions because someone else slams into me. The woman doesn't seem to mind and she laughs even louder when she moves slightly away from me. When I lay my eyes on her it's clear. I would never mistake those golden locks.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

She's still incredibly close to me and shows no signs of intending to change the position.

"Hey." she returns as an answer. "Funny how of all people I run into _you_."

"Wh-" I start again. Maybe she didn't hear me ask.

"I like you."

I'm taken aback and multiple questions wrestle in my head for the prize of which one gets to get out first. But all words vanish in thin air as she leans in. Part of me thinks it's because of the train rocking wildly, but one peak into her eyes reveals a mischievous look. She wets her lips quickly and moves even closer. I catch myself licking my lips too. There's an explosion in my chest as she glues hers to mine and during that moment I wish I live off IV for the rest of my life and never have to ingest anything, so her taste remains forever on my lips.

It's over too soon. She licks her lips again and there are traces of a petite smirk appearing on her face.

As the smile becomes obvious, her silhouette shrinks. She's floating away from me. The crowd takes her in and her figure blends with the hundreds of faceless bodies around, never dropping her gaze. I scream after her, but to no avail. I can no longer see her.

My next instinct is to run. Pushing men, women and children alike on the sides, violently and relentlessly, as I dive through them in search of her. Eventually, the crowd becomes thinner and the walls lose their color. I yell. The sound echoes back, the windows become concrete and bars, the carpet turns to tiles and the seats and booths in the trains are now bunk-beds. My head starts spinning and I lose control of my body. Where am I? It's a hospital. No. It's a prison. I nearly collapse on the cold white tiles when I realize it's a bit of both. It's a mental asylum. I see her standing hear one of the beds and I approach her carefully.

"Hey..." I say and reach out for her arm to have her turn towards me. Her smile is gone. "What's wrong, beautiful?"

It is then that I feel feather-light. It seems like I'm about to faint, too, but I don't. A sharp pain everywhere on my body makes me close my eyes. When they flash open again, I'm flying. I can't see myself, but I see a figure right below me. She's wearing a long white gown with blue stripes and her dark hair is hiding her face. Her arms jolt forward, and she frantically grabs the bed on both sides from the other woman.

The captive's shriek slices through the room and she pulls her hands up to her face.

"Leave me alone! You're insane! INSANE!"

"But, you started this!" the darkhaired girl cries in confusion. Her hands start shaking.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!"

She listens. She lets go of the bed and the other girl is no longer enclosed. The arms drop on her sides, and she starts sinking lower until her body finally hits the floor with a loud thud. The girl with the golden hair screams again and again, the voice increasing its pitch and volume. Soon the noise is too loud in my ears and my head is pounding.

I can't help it. I yell.

"MAURA!"

* * *

My eyes flash open to reveal my apartment to me. There's a shadow above and soon I realize it's her. She's towering over me. I've passed out on the couch. The flickering of the screen tells me the TV is on but muted.

"Jane, are you okay?" she sounds worried and curious.

"Umm yeah, just a nightmare."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

My head stats burning at simply imagining the scenario where I do.

"Nah, it's.. I'm fine!"

"Let's talk about something else then."

I'm surprised at the urgency in her voice. It's not her usual tone, but a notably more solemn one. It alarms me.

"What happened?"

"What happened with Grace?"

If I were standing up I'd probably jump back from shock or trip or lose balance. However, no I'm lying on the bed with nowhere to go and she's still standing over me with unreadable expression on her face. What on Earth brought this about? Did she read any emails. No, that's not Maura at all. She couldn't have.

"Mau- What are you talking about?"

"Was she only a friend?"

Tachycardia, arrhythmia, cardiac abnormality, something is definitely going wrong in my chest.

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

"But she could have been more." It's not a question.

"Was Mona?"

She ignores my question as if it was never voiced.

"You would have changed things, but you didn't get the chance, did you Jane?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Or maybe you didn't... _have the guts_."

"Maura wh-"

"Is that what it's like with me?"

"Maura no! Wait!"

"Are you a coward Jane?"

"MAURA!"

* * *

This time I jump up and I'm no longer on the couch but in my bed, wrapped in sweat soaked sheets and panting loudly. I can barely see in the faint light coming from the street, but it's enough to ensure I'm alone.

My breathing rhythm doesn't listen to the way I'm trying to set it.

So, _that_ was also part of the nightmare?

What if I'm still in one.

My arm automatically reaches out to the other one, pinching the flesh. It stings. It feels real. I rise up to test my motor functions. The light is not enough for me not to trip on a t-shirt discarded on the floor, and land sideways on my bed. But it's a good thing. If I was dreaming and the pinch didn't wake me, the kick I got out of nearly falling would have. So this _is_ real.

I recall her words.

_Are you a coward, Jane?_

I pull my feet up on the bed, my knees bend and my arms automatically wrap around them. As if magically summoned, my eyes begin shedding tears on their own while I'm pathetically rocking back and forth and hugging myself.

In the end, who else would?

* * *

A/N: I promise I'll make Jane make a move, just not immediately/right now. There's something masochistically beautiful about the burn.

So, feel free to put up requests, I'll do my best to fit them in.

And, as always, please review and tell me what you think :)

3


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